


Desert Skies

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 01:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8268295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: The amount of people who have taken McCree’s hat over the last two decades is at least two dozen names long.Hanzo's name is a new one.





	

The amount of people who have taken McCree’s hat over the last two decades is at least two dozen names long.

McCree doesn’t blame them. Not really. It’s a damn fine hat. Wide brimmed, and made with the best material he could afford, it’s provided him enough shade on the road to be worth the purchase. He’s pretty sure he’ll die with it on at this point. 

Unless someone filches it first, he thinks, looking at the bench where he rested the damn thing. Man parts with his hat for five minutes to take a shower and someone takes it. McCree shakes his head. No respect. Exactly like the old days. 

He looks for Genji first. Back when he was in Blackwatch, a missing hat was Genji’s work, half the time. McCree was sure one of the recruits caught him doing his cowboy impression on film more than once,  finger guns and all. When he finds Genji meditating with Zenyatta clearly hatless, he goes to Lena as the next culprit. Her head is bare as well. The usual suspects don’t pan out either; Fareeha, Ana, Winston, and Angela are all found innocent on his quest. By the time he asks Satya, he’s desperate. Well, desperate enough to consider Satya an option when she’s told him multiple times that his hat smells like death and should be burned to prevent disease. 

When he heads out to the terrace, it’s with a sense of defeat. He knows it’s not gone forever, the base isn’t that big, but it’s the first time in years he’s misplaced the damn thing for so long. When he spots its brim in his line of sight, he almost thinks he’s seeing things for a moment. It’s only after blinking a few times that he realizes his eyes aren’t tricking him.

Sure enough, Hanzo Shimada is leaning against a tree, fast asleep, Jesse’s hat hiding his face from the world.

McCree stares for a long moment. He’s put his hat on Hanzo a few times, mostly for laughs, but he never thought the man actually liked the thing. At least, not enough to take it. He walks over to Hanzo and looks down at him. The man is snoring lightly, and McCree wonders how tired he was to bother taking a nap in broad daylight.

He looks up through the tree branches. Sunlight peers through, bright and relentless. The hat is only shade keeping Hanzo’s face from its rays. The thievery suddenly makes sense; Hanzo always did get short sighted when tired. He probably grabbed McCree’s hat as the first defense against the sun’s wrath for mediation, and then fell asleep instead.

A bad part of McCree, a part who should never be encouraged, wants to snap a quick picture of the man in front of him. Something to look at when he’s feeling down. He resists the urge. Not exactly nice to take pictures of folks while they’re snoozing. He’ll have to ask Hanzo when he’s awake. Maybe he’ll get soft on him.

McCree sits down, leaning back against the tree. He’s got nowhere to be; might as well settle in. He looks at Hanzo and takes in the hat. It’s a good look on him. A terribly good look. A look that gives men _ideas_.

He shakes the thought off, looking up at the sky. Lets out a low whistle, soft enough not to wake Hanzo. Gibraltar’s scenery is a lot different from that of New Mexico, but when he closes his eyes, the sun on his brow feels almost like the deserts he used to call home. Now, home is less permanent, more people than place. A cyborg who steals his hat and does impressions. A veteran who forces tea into his hands when sick and teases him about his aim. A woman who has grown from a young girl to a bold, dedicated soldier. 

A man asleep under a tree with a cowboy hat on.

It’s better than the desert could ever dream of. 


End file.
